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COPYRIGHT 1913 

By JOHN A KIRLiCKS 

HOUSTON, TEXAS 



JAN 13 1914 



.//,'" PRESS OF 

"~ '■ REIN & SONS COMPANY 

' HOUSTON 



©CI.A36.1749 



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^ i(<aI'^. 



Contend 

J^ana ^alustrisi [17] 

^tranlJeb at tl)c Jfair [10] 

Casso's Eamcnt : Correcteb [21] 

Ct)c (^reen turtle : 9 Jfablc [25] 

aaebcric [27] 

9t |3cacc! [29] 

^Ije Ctuo Spirits [31] 

9 Simian apostropJjc [33] 

WLmk lames (j^ibcg iaeafions [37] 

3lnbitation to tfjc €mperor ]45] 

3'bc (!^ot tl)c iglucs Conigtjt [51] 

.9 CoufitiEntial Ilcttcr : Jfrom |3aris [53] 

icln eastern ^rial [57] 

^0 iflark ^toain [63] 

m\)o mm mm [67] 

^i)t iWinstrel's Curse [71] 
^oetrp to Bate [77] 
tEfje Citanic [79] 
Jfear iFiot [83] 



Bebication 

To THE TRUE AND UNCHANGING 
FRIENDS OF MY BOYHOOD AND 
MATURER YEARS, A FEW OF WHOM 
I HAVE TAKEN THE LIBERTY OF PRE- 
SENTING HERE. WHOSE KIND FACES 
AND GENTLE SUASIONS HAVE EN- 
COURAGED AND TEMPTED THE 
AUTHOR TO PRESENT THIS LITTLE 
VOLUME TO THE PUBLIC. AND WHO. 
EVEN NOW. DELICATELY HINT THAT 
IF THEY HAVE ANY SUCCESS IN DIS- 
COVERING THE "SENSE."" THEY WILL 
CHEERFULLY AND GLADLY OVER- 
LOOK AND FORGIVE THE -NONSENSE." 
WHICH ABOUNDS IN A LARGER MEAS- 
URE IN THESE PAGES. 1 GRATEFULLY 
DEDICATE THIS UNOBTRUSIVE 
LITTLE VOLUME 

JOHN A. KIRLICKS 







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anb jfTtonscnse 
in 



1171 

l&ana $alusitris! 

The evening winds bring on thy dull complaint, 

Sad dweller in the marshy solitude ! 
The blithe mosquito's treble waxeth faint, 

When thy demure and rueful tones intrude 

To mar the fierce flute's short lived interlude. 
Thy monodies are dissonant and cold, 

Since Cere's wrath revengefully pursued 
The Lycian swains — thy ancestry of old — 
And changed each human form into thy present mould. 

I do not raise my voice to chide thy cries, 

Nor to remind thee they are heard in vain ; 
For grief must dwell where lamentations rise, 

And thy batrachian breast may harbor pain ; 

Thou hast some cause for thy undue refrain. 
For thou hast felt this summer's fervent heat 

With me, and with the crowd that can complain 
Of that hard fate which brings each cool retreat 
Within the reach of few — the tramp and the elite. 

In spite of human or reptilian grief. 

The philosophic breast may find e'en here 
From brooding care stray moments of relief; 

We are, perhaps, in lieu of better cheer. 

Recipients blest of melodies and beer; 
And then awhile evasive joy abides. 

Thou, too, sad frog, hast little cause for fear ! 
No vaunting foe above thee rough shod rides, 
Nor herons haunt thy home, nor small boys prod thy sides. 

'Tis well for thee thou dwellest not in France, 

Where science fosters culinary art ; 
For there thy loud and mournful dissonance 

Would be the music that vast crowds should start 

To catch thee for the beefless Gallic mart, 
And thou wouldst hide in reedy bogs in vain. 

Thy fragile limbs their substance should impart 
To some proud dish, — (durn this Spencerian strain! 
I can't complete the theme, stuck on a rhyme again). 

— Originally published in Puck. 



anb Mondtnut 
in 

1191 

^tranbeb at tl)e Jf air 

(When the wild and wooly Texan turns his broncho loose 
to graze at will on mesquite and cactus, and, mounting to his 
Pegasus, throws his lariat about, he is more than likely to "rope" 
a good thing. One of the best metrical effusions on the Chicago 
Fair that has appeared in print is furnished by Mr. John A. Kir- 
licks, a prominent attorney of Houston, Texas. It is a farrago 
that is seldom excelled. — Memphis Appeal Avalanche.) 

Good-bye to the peerless White City, 

Ein Fremder now bids you adieu ! 
I came pretty flush in ihr' Mitte ; 

I otherwise hurry away. 
Good-bye to the Turkishen Damen, 

Those nymphs of the east at the fair ; 
I suffer mit Schmerzen und Gramen, 

For my Tasche ist empty und lehr. 

Good-bye to the song und die Lieder ! 

Adieu to the schooners of beer! 
Ach! Niemals meine Fuesse shall wieder 

Die Heimath verlassen, stray here, 
Where the lady managers streiten 

With an earnest, passionate zeal, 
Where the bunco steerer still lighten 

The sucker ein bischen zu viel. 

There's Kummer above and around me. 

There's schreckliche wails in the air; 
The financial depression has found me 

Zerschmettert and broke at the fair. 
My frolic's unhappily over, 

This pilgrim has gar kein Glueck, 
Wie Kann zum Heim denn der rover 

Time's whirligig bringen zurueck? 

Die Reise ist schlecht on the cross ties. 

There's no joy in too much of Natur; 
Oh, why gave I heed to the boss lies 

Of the steerer I met in my tour? 
Now I pine as a healthy, good feeder, 

For the home where a square meal awaits, 
And where to my creditors wieder 

I could say "Jugendfreunde, wie gehts?" 



in 

1211 



Cas;£(o*si ILament : Correfteb 

With Apologies to Lord Byron. 

Alone I gaze upon the cheerless sun 

Low rising o'er the misty brow of morn ; 

Were I beyond these bars I had begun 

To slake my thirst in juice of grape or corn, 
Or tempted been to drain an alien horn; 

But I am thwarted in this high emprize. 

When bards by satraps from their joys are torn 

How will the Muse their rescue prompt devise, 

While tyrant Rajahs reign with clubs of ample size? 

The birds in freedom pipe their songs of glee, 

Why should the bard his meager joys forego? 
The hart which panteth for the brook, is free 

To quench his thirst within its silver flow ; 

Yet must the child of song his shekel show 
If he perchance but touch the brimming booze. 

Fell tyranny ! Is this thy sordid blow, 
Aimed at all thirsty vot'ries of the Muse, 
Who drain th' inspiring draughts, disdaining to refuse? 

Last eve beheld us full of joyous life, 

Wrought by the potent force of Hippocrene ; 
Where mirth and glee, and revelry were rife. 

Within a hall, entrenched beyond a screen ; 

But at each fresh libation there was seen 
A deeper glow, and eke a ruddier flame 

Upon the visage of our host, whose mien, 
All clouded sore grew fraught with rage and blame. 
Because we lacked the dross to liquidate his claim. 



( Concluded on Page 2 3 ) 



anb Monsenst 

in 

jRJjpme 

(2*31 



Casisio'j; Hament : Correfteb 

( Concluded ) 

It boots me not to say or when or how, 

The host called for the color of our gold; 
We only bade him smooth his ruffled brow, 

And tear the av'rice from his bosom's hold; 

He rose like Mars, majestically bold, 
And prompt into our wav'ring column sailed. 

Inflicting pains which cannot well be told. 
Until a guardian of the night was hailed, 
Then flashed the cop's baton, his whistle shrill prevailed. 

By foreign hands this gallant form was nabbed; 

The scoop perfected, we to durance hie, 
Where other paladins our assets grabbed. 

And plunged each owner in a Stygian sty. 

Base den ! and baser deed ; could they not spy 
Whose noble form shrunk from a despot's hand ? 

For by our fruit are we best known, and I, 
A son of Italy, in this strange land, 
Lament my grievous wrongs, and ruined apple stand. 



in 
12*5] 



aClje (green turtle : 31 Jf able 

A green turtle lay on the blue heaving main, 
Remote from the snare of the fisherman's seme ; 
And he basked with content in the sun's torrid heat, 
As he rocked on the top of his briny retreat. 

But the turtle though green, was inflated with pride, 
At the size of his body, so ample and wide ; 
So he raised up his voice, which some turtles can raise. 
And sang with great fervor his own little praise. 

"I'm the envied of all that the waters contain, 
For my absence of care, and great absence of brain. 
For my lightness of slumber and hardness of shell. 
And plentiful sea-room I have where I dwell. 

"I am sought far and wide, wheresoe'er I retreat. 
By squads of the ton and crowds of th' elite, 
To attend at their revels and scenes of their glee, 
As the succulent dude of the fathomless sea. 

"Can the creatures of earth in their vanity tell 
The degree to which here I can cut up a swell? 
And nothing that swims can my prowess deride. 
For though narrow my head, yet my flippers are wide. 

"When the skies are in wrath and the angry winds rave, 
I can calmly duck down 'neath the turbulent wave. 
Be the storms ne'er so wild, and th' earth ne'er so grim. 
It is then that I get pretty deep in the swim. 

"I can go where I list on the white sandy shore. 
The caves of the ocean I seek and explore ; 
And when drowsiness comes as I toss on the deep 
'Tis thus I in safety partake of my sleep." 

The singer slept long on the waters so wide. 

Till the crew of a vessel his body espied — 

There's a loss on the waves in the green turtle group. 

For our turtle is now, alas ! in the soup. 



3^eberie 

Now the dreary dripping of the winter's rain 

Comes amain, 
From the dank and humid curtain of the skies, 

As it hes, 
Lowering dark and dismal Hke a gloomy pall, 

Over all. 

And the sharp and icy breath of winter heaves 

All the leaves, 
In the swirl of muddy rivulets that run, 

As in fun, 
With their loads of rotted herbage from the lea, 

To the sea. 

Not a sign of living verdure is around 

On the ground ; 
Nor an early promise of a sheltered nook 

For the rook. 
As he wings his dusky way and woos with cries 

Gentler skies. 

There is gloom and sorrow in the winter's breath, 

As if Death 
Sought admittance at each threshold of our mirth, 

And that Earth 
Never had an idol it could e'er withhold 

From its fold. 

Hark! My baby's laughter in her cozy room, 

Breaks the gloom 
That hath slowly wound around me unawares. 

And declares. 
That pure Love, man's only guest from Paradise, 

Never dies ! 



S>ettj(c 

anb jfionsctDSc 

in 

3Rf)pmc 

[271 



anb Mon&cmt 

in 

3Rljpmc 

129] 

(Commemorating the death of Hally Ballinger Randall, the 
beautiful twelve-year-old daughter of Dr. Ed. Randall, of Gal- 
veston, who met death in a street car accident in that city.) 

The star that fades from mortal sight, 
But bears away its lambent light 

To a more radiant shore; 
Beyond earth's stormy, mystic plain. 
Beyond its somber, gloomy main. 

To shine forevermore. 

The Dove freed from the tossing Ark, 
A welcome strand will later mark, 

And rest her beauteous wings. 
Where love beams woo the smiling glades, ^ 
Where th' rainbow's luster never fades. 

And seraph rapture rings. * , 

The helpless, fragile frame we use. 

When marred or wrecked by some deep bruise 

But lets the spirit free; 
We watch the eye-lids holy calm. 
And see in th' quiet, folded palm, 

The soul's serenity. 

And yet, we'd barter life away 
In health, on earth, another day 

Her radiant face to see; 
Free from disfigurement and pain, 
Her loving form embrace again, 

Fresh in her childhood's glee. 

The beauteous soul too soon hath flown, 
Love radiant to th' Eternal throne. 

Where joy and peace abide; 
At rest from heart-ache, grief and fears, 
Through Time's unchanging, endless years. 

By the Divine Healer's side. 



anb ^onitnit 
in 

131) 

(Dedicated by the author to Miss Opal Hall of the Houston 
High School, whose request suggested the poem.) 

Two spirits lure us on in life — 

And will, until this life shall cease; 
One urging conquest but through strife, 

The other through all scenes of peace. 
They are the guides that forge our fate, 

Through sufferance of some power above ; 
The one is grim, enduring Hate, 

The other sweet, unchanging Love. 

They're blended oft in one alloy, 

Yet each its power can not conceal ; 
The one toils fiercely to destroy. 

The other to exalt and heal. 
Whose influence here will first abate? 

One drags us down, one leads above; 
The fallen angel's armed with Hate, 

The Saviour of mankind with Love. 

Wherever deeds of human wrath 

Prevail to shame some spot of earth. 
There Love will seek the stricken path 

To turn its sorrows into mirth. 
There is no kinder, sweeter breath 

Than that of Love, when Peace is rife; 
Hate fosters grief and garners death. 

Love leads us to eternal life. 



B>enst 
in 

[33 i 



S Simian ^positropfte 

Poor mammal of the distant torrid clime ! 

(Twin beggar with the organ grinding loon!) 

ThoLi art the theme of this exalted rhyme; 
For thou canst prompt, perhaps, as sad a tune, 
As winds, or waves, or debts, or else the moon, 

Whose face the verdant poet's soul imbues 
With reckless bursts of poesy, as soon 

As Spring arrives; but I, who have the blues, 

And need new themes, with thee will operate the Muse. 

I ween that thou canst scoop the penny in 

With fell alacrity, and ask for more; 
Each gift dost thou acknowledge with a grin, 

And pridest in thy master's increased store — 

The lazy organist from Tiber's shore. 
Art not ashamed to tramp and beg with one 
Who grinds a box, ignoring Dante's lore.? 
Why didst desert thy early scenes of fun — 
Thy home where plaintains bask within the burning sun? 

Why didst thou leave thy bright Brazilian skies. 

To wander with Italia's wayward son? 
Why tear away from all domestic ties. 

To win the joys ambition ne'er hath won? 

It might have been far better, foolish one. 
If, from thy leafy home by science driven, 

Or playful wooing of a gatling gun, 
When all was lost for which thou well hadst striven. 
To shake this life, but win your Hannamanean Heaven, 

Then no rude crowd could see thee beg for bread. 

And wildly shake the pigmy tambourine; 
No want of training keep thy heart in dread 

Of brutal vengeance from thy owner's spleen ; 

Nor youthful vagrants prove so wondrous mean 
With spurious coin your labors to repay. 

Now, toils and hardship ever intervene 
To darken o'er each bright and balmy day. 
And ever on through life to lead the dreariest way. 

( Concluded on Page 3 5 ) 



in 



(351 

( Concluded ) 

Thou hast no friend save him who flogs thee now ; 

No cheery word save from the organ's throat ; 
Nor will thy tyrant's temper e'er allow 

Thy little soul to revel in each note 

That from the organ's tubed breast doth float. 
The larking Arabs stumbling on thy way, 

E'en they who most resemble thee, still gloat 
Upon thy pain and wretchedness, for they 
Are taught nor joys to give, nor sorrows to allay. 

Farewell ! Sad wanderer of the Simian race ! 

Of base Italian arts a pupil now ! 
Thy Garibaldian suit doth not encase 

Thy limbs successfully, whereat thy brow 

Betokens wrath which words may not avow. 
The bastinado's force hath quelled thy pride; 

Nor will thy chief thee liberty allow 
To mount the boy that jabs thy aching side, 
Or choke each urchin rude who doth thy form deride. 

— Originally published in Puck. 



anlj Monstmt 
in 

[3*71 

Wintlt fames; #ibesi ^isi Eeasions; Wi)v 
^e ^lais l^emaineb Single 

I received your glowing letter 
And am feeling none the better, 

After reading the description of your lovely "mash." 
Praise and eulogize the fairy ! 
You'll find girls are mercenary, 

Having little use for genius without ample cash. 

I have had some bitter schooling. 
But am cured of all my fooling ; 

And have put aside the vanities of long ago. 
Let the younger of aspirants 
Woo the fair, inconstant tyrants, 

While I watch from far the wooing that shall come to woe. 

Let me ask you, do you wonder 
Why I love the sex no longer, 

And with scorn repay the looks of their alluring eyes ? 
Not the wealth of Vatheck, Croesus, 
Can conveniently release us 

From the vows we've made in boyhood to shun marriage ties. 

Lll not name her in these pages. 
Nor by what degrees and stages 

I began to love her with a passion most profound. 
Both in prose and fervid stanzas. 
Like a landshark booming Kansas, 

I sang praises to her beauty in unvarying sound. 

She for whom my heart was yearning 
Lacked not in superior learning. 

As the many beaux asserted who around her soared. 
And no maid was e'er more courted 
For the languages she sported ; 

All the members of the literati her adored. 

( Continued on Page 30 ) 



anb Momtnse 

in 

3Rl)pme 

(301 



Wintlt STamess (©ibes! ?|isi 3^ta^om Wi}V 
^e JIass J^emaineb ^insle 

( Continued ) 

She was versed in the Chaldean, 
She'd the form of Ada Rehan, 

And her nom de plume of "Juno" was quite apropos. 
A pronounced omniv'rous reader, 
And in fact, a ditto feeder; 

At picnics and in reading circles she was "all the go." 

Years ago, when I was braver, 
I determined to enslave her; 

And to call her heart and bank account as so much gain. 
Oh, the soul's gloom and its canker! 
(Worse than debts due to one's banker) 

Is the knowledge that we love some foolish girl in vain. 

When my schemes were first projected, 
I had hopes I'd be elected 

On first ballot, worshipper and boss at that fair shrine; 
And by accident then meeting 
An old friend, suggested treating 

Him as guest to test the virtues of some good old wine. 

But the fiery heathen Bacchus 

Hath the power to daze and "hack" us. 

Though he be the Deity of revelry and song. 
W^hen he first deigns to select us 
We believe he'll not affect us 

Farther than to lubricate the tonsils and the tongue. 

I confess when I am cozy. 
And the wine is rich and rosy, 

I am but as clay within the skillful potter's hand ; 
Then with very little urging 
Through one's brain come thickly surging 

Verse and rhyme o'er which we otherwise have no command. 

( Continued on Page i 1 ) 



anb Monstnst 

in 

3IRfjpme 



141] 

Wintlt Jameg #ibes; ^i^ ^eaisong W\^v 

( Continued ) 

What though with each added beaker 
Waxed our brain force weak and weaker; 

Yet the plenitude of bHss and languor larger grew. 
In the realms of fancy passing, 
Nuggets of fresh bliss amassing, 

Time on quickened pinions like unwearied Hermes flew. 

Soon our weird condition mental 
Was as of the Oriental, 

Who has "hit" his long chibuque, perhaps a while too free, 
Or the sun that through th' embrasure 
Of eve's clouds of gold and azure 

Sinks with peaceful glory in the far and quiet sea. 

We had drunk at least a flagon 
Ere we got this lordly "jag" on. 

And had reveled with the Muses of each shore and clime ; 
From the Chinese and the Choctaw, 
Idioms that give one the lockjaw. 

We had quoted many lines both lofty and sublime. 

But at length we parted worsted. 
Like Biela's comet, bursted. 

And intuitively wended to our lonely roost ; 
Yet determined on reflection, 
And in some fear of detection, 

To avoid in future giving frolic such a boost. 

We reflect not when we're jolly 
On the afterpain of folly, 

Nor the inroads on the vital forces we create. 
Aid of leech and physic scorning, 
Boom the fierce pains of the morning. 

Nor can all the vows of reformation these abate. 

( Concluded on Page iS ) 



atib Monitnit 
in 

[431 

Wintk fames! (gibess ?|is; a^eajsons! W\)V 
Sle ?|as; l^emaineb Single 

( Concluded ) 

Who can bid to fate defiance. 
Or avoid a strict compliance 

With the arbitrary edicts she forever draws? 
A disordered, wild pulsation, 
Comes from each superb libation. 

While the whips and stings of conscience fail to give us pause. 

Next day — But why this rehearsal. 
To prove woman's universal 

Custom to deceive th' unwary is, and her delight? 
By her act my heart was blighted ! 
For, next day I was invited 

To attend her wedding with one whom she loved at sight. 

Can philosophy or reason 
Any consolation seize on. 

When we learn we have received the grand and final bounce ? 
Still, I mourn for the deceiver, 
I wear crepe upon my beaver, 

But all female lures I've vowed forever to renounce. 



anb Monitnit 
in 

[45] 

Snbitation to tfje €mperor 

(The German- American citizens of St. Louis will invite 
Emperor Wiliam of Germany to their great exposition.) 

To His Imperial Highness, Wilhelm H, Kaiser von Deutschland, 
und Koenig von Preussen, Greeting : 

The world hath grown kinder and wiser 

Since its welfare's attained near its noon ; 
We have longed to meet Germany's Kaiser, 

And the time seems now opportune ; 
For a show will shortly ensue here, 

That a hemisphere's stride will attest, 
And we want the Kaiser to view here 

A century's growth of the West. 

Please take then your grip sack und kofifer. 

And allow us to greet you next year, 
You'll not be permitted to suffer 

The keen pangs of durst over here; 
Your board will not cost you a penny 

For the time we're out larking with you ; 
You'll be courted and worshipped by many. 

And buncoed, perhaps, by a few. 

You'll be welcomed as head of a nation 

That's grown prachtvoll and growing in might, 
And we'll lead you by right of your station 

In a ceaseless whirl of delight. 
There'll be frolic, and freedom and revel. 

Wherever your Highness is led. 
And despite some anarchic old devil, 

We'll paint the old town pretty red. 

The business of ruling is irksome. 

Wo there's gar nichts wie ruling to do. 
As boys nach dem spiele can work some, 

Why should it not be so with you? 
Ah, happy the man who his labors 

And cares that surround him forgets ! 
Take a run with your great Western neighbors. 

And forget all your truebsal and debts. 

( Continued on Page i 7 ) 



anb i^onscnse 

in 

3^f)pme 

1471 

Snbitation to tfje €mperor 

( Continued ) 

While merry, we yet are not fickle, 

While thoughtful, we frown not at cheer — 
The price of our lager's ein nickel. 

And free lunch geht immer mit beer. 
Can emperors squeeze the same pleasure 

Out of life wie der niedrigste kann? 
Perhaps, but the pitiable measure, 

1st nicht fuer den kaiser, but mann. 

Our show will be etwas entrancing, 

Und wunderbar auch as to size ; 
The buildings — and we're not romancing — 

Will reach the full height of the skies ; 
And the girls in the midway '11 be schoener 

Than any in jahren vorbei ; 
The fair ones will come, with some trainer, 

Aus dem wilden Paris und Turkei. 

Rich fields, rare fruitage und rosen 

Have supplanted our wild, primal weeds ; 
Here die Deutschen und ein'ge Franzosen 

Have transformed by their venturous deeds 
The haunts where the picturesque savage 

And the hungry cayote had birth, 
Where the prairie dog joyed in his ravage — 

To the prachtvollest spot upon earth. 



( Concluded on Page ^9 ) 



Snbitation to tlje Cmperor 

( Concluded ) 

It's a fehler perhaps zu vermischen 

Two tongues on the theme we've in view, 
But we must throw the Unes here dazwishen 

A Teutonic expression or two. 
For in speaking half Deutsch we are plainer 

And it sounds just like home talk to you, 
And he, der Deutsch spricht, will be gainer. 

And those who don't speak it are few. 

Niemand here possessing his senses, 

Would fail to give welcome to you, 
Don't worry um alle expenses, 

As our millionaires here would do; 
And since love will be guide to our greeting 

You'll not forget us too quick ; 
But mindful, nachher, of this meeting, 

You will long to be wieder zurueck. 



anb Momtn&t 
in 

[491 



in 
1511 



3*be (got tfje ?Blue£{ 
tKonigbt 

Die Nacht is dunkel as the grave, 

But oh ! nicht halb so still ; 
Die music made by fiddlers brave, 

Die Luft mit laermen fill ; 
Upon the fence die Katzen run, 

Und singen mit voU might. 
Though spite of all this herrlich fun, 

I've got the blues tonight. 

Die lovely sounds of Natur fail 

To cheer Meine traurige Brust, 
Des Monde's schimmer suesz und pale 

Tonight gibt keine Lust; 
I don't know what to make of this. 

So awful lonesamkeit; 
Denn gestern war ich froh mit bliss — 

I've got the blues tonight. 

Kein stimmen of des Maedchen's lied, 

Kein fiddle's deep toned lays. 
Even beer macht keinen Unterschied, 

None can my spirits raise; 
The sweetest dings what Dichters tell 

My soul's deep Dunkelheit, 
I don't believe they can dispell — 

I've got the blues tonight. 

Warum is all this business thus? 

And all this Herzeweh? 
Perhaps I better not discuss 

The cause in this sad lay; 
For if die Wahrheit now must come 

And show my Herzen's plight — 
Denn Gestern war ich auf ein bum, 

I've got the blues tonight. 



anb Mon&cnit 

in 

3^J)pme 

153] 

a Confibential letter : jFrom ^^arisi 

Dear Lillie, you've heard, since we parted, 

That Harry and I are estranged ; 
I'm told that he's now broken hearted — , 

I know that I also am changed. 
Our romance has utterly vanished — , 

I've discovered a higher ideal; 
And grief from my heart I have banished. 

Since I captured the Duke of Belleisle. 

The Duke is so grand and exclusive, 

He comes of such thoroughbred stock, 
To me it is almost conclusive 

That Harry will find this a shock; 
But my friends say our union is vital — 

A tower both of glory and strength; 
Ma sanctions the match for his title. 

Papa for his pedigree's length. 

Of course, the Duke often has wandered, 

From the paths of the godly and wise; 
And a lot of his fortune is squandered. 

And his morals reduced as to size. 
The nobles here delve in excesses. 

By virtue and right of their birth ; 
But the Duke now seldom transgresses, 

Except in the hours of his mirth. 

( Concluded on Page 55 ) 



anb Mon&tn^t 

in 

3^f)pme 

155] 

^ Confibential Hetter : jFrom 3^axis^ 

( Concluded ) 

I've chided his Highness severely, 

For every old fault I could find ; 
And now, since admonished, he nearly 

Confessed he'd been foolish and blind. 
And you'll marvel to know how this lover. 

Who was patient and calm when I stormed 
After thinking the matter all over. 

Turned in the last week and reformed. 

So give my regrets to poor Harry, 

Console him the best you know how ; 
Some day he will happily marry, 

If he does grieve a little just now, 
I cannot entirely forget him, 

For to me he was never unkind ; 
'Twas his poverty tended to fret him. 

When the Duke first gladdened my mind. 

'I* 'y* ^J* '^ 'T^ Jp 2|% 

Oh, glory, and grandeur, and station! 

Oh, disunity, fashion and pride ! 
These, with uncertain duration. 

Are the gifts that enoble a bride ! 
Oh, heart of mine, beating with rapture, 

And joy, that the lures are away! 
Guess, Lillie, where is my capture? 

I'm the bride of dear Harry today! 



in 

[571 



an Casitern tirial 

'Twas in the town of Housto-Khan, 
The Bashaw sat in his divan ; 
His satraps were around him placed 
To work his mandates in full haste. 

'Twas but a moment that before 
The hall was in a din and roar — 
"Hats off in court," the eunuch cried, 
The turbans prompt are laid aside. 

The Bashaw, from his dais on high, 
Cast on the tribes an ugly eye. 
And cried while rage his bosom shook, 
"Bring in the false Bashi Bazook !" 

The culprit faced the divan soon; 
He was a swart and dusky loon. 
Whose checkered garb and scanty hair. 
Showed an aesthetic Sing Sing air. 

"Proclaim the charge, Oh, grand Vizier, 
Thou bringst against the Paynim here !" 
"Great Bashaw, I on yesternoon 
Heard him malign the Great Horn Spoon." 

"Enough ! Thou needst not here enlarge 
Upon the proof of this grave charge ! 
No Tartar hoodlum shall evade 
The laws for true believers made ! 

"The fine, or sentence then, in short, 
Is one dinar (with costs of court) ; 
The costs will stretch into fourscore. 
Mayhap a hundred, or e'en more. 

"Haroun, collect at once yon fine ! 
(For Pm somewhat in need of mine), 
Should he its payment now refuse. 
Hurl him into the calaboose ! 



( Continued on Page 69 ) 



in 

1591 



an Casitern Ktial 

( Continued ) 

"He doth demur, and will appeal! 
By Allah, he my wrath shall feel ! 
Like greyhound straining at the leash, 
He tries to 'scape my just backsheesh. 

"Shall base-born Tartars dare withhold 
The tribute due the high and bold? 
Or renegades of Tripoli 
Evade just tolls to such as I? 

"Shall Nubian convicts from Gum Isle 
Refuse to fetch me their last pile ? 
While they some candidate can boost, 
Or labor with the pullet roost? 

"No, by Mahomet's sacred beard! 
Each culprit shall be fully sheared, 
So long as I shall need one cent 
For grandeur, or for harem's rent ! 

"D'ye think I work, despite my w^ealth, 
The justice racket for my health? 
Or that 'tis for the love of law 
I sport my title of Bashaw? 

"Should I neglect to fleece the crowd, 
Who'd covet my position proud? 
Who'd be content thus high to stand, 
A broken sceptre in his hand? 



( Concluded on Page 6 1 ) 



21 FIFTW AVENUE 













a. 













an €as;tern Wvial 

( Concluded ) 

"My income's regulated, too, 
By what a Bashaw's voice can do; 
And though the State acquires no fine, 
Th' important trimmings all are mine. 

"By merit I attained my post; 
And shall my labor's fruit be lost 
By quibbling tricks and legal deals, 
And scandalous, profane appeals? 

"Not so ! I swear, while by me here 
Abides my trusty, grand Vizier, 
Who fully delegated stands 
To carry out my just commands, 

"Vizier! conduct the culprit hence. 
To Haroun's tower of penitence. 
Until his shekels are revealed 
And wounded justice hath been healed!" 



anb Monstnut 

in 

3Rf)pmc 

161] 



anb i^onscnfie 
in 

163) 



®o ilarfe l^toain 

We crave, as guerdon of our unsought birth, 
Some height to scale, some glory to attain ; 

And in our march we fill the wayward earth, 
With monuments portraying joy or pain. 
The fleeting records of some loss or gain. 

As Selfishness or Love our being sways. 

How few are they who reach that higher plane 

Of Life's broad triumph, where its quiet days 

Shine with more light and hope, and far serener rays. 

But thou hast gained an eminence thine own, 

Beyond the reach of envy or of blame ; 
And of all human passions. Love alone 

Will cherish and perpetuate thy name, 

With other m.ortals of immortal fame. 
As bearer of the tidings, that on earth. 

Our hopes, our dreads, our sorrows, are the same; 
And he the only gainer from his birth. 
Who mingles with his toil, God's boon of joy and mirth. 

The sunny humor of thy useful life 

Hath filled with gladness many a cheerless mind, 
Equipped it for a nobler, better strife, 

Against the faults and follies of mankind. 

Philosopher and humorist combined ! 
To whom at last a Voice shall call "Well done." 

Through thee e'en wretchedness will solace find. 
For thou hast brought — and thereby glory won — 
Good will to all thy kind, and malice unto none. 



( Concluded on Page 65 With Letter 
from Mark Twain ) 



tn 
[651 



( Concluded ) 

The world is happier in that thou wert born; 

Thy gift to man is never draped in woe. 
But diamonded in laughter, as the Morn 

With dew drops greets the Day-King's early glow ; 

And we would have thee, while in life, to know 
How strong from every warm and buoyant breast, 

Love and Love's attributes around thee grow. 
If these beget a blessing, thou art blessed. 
As in our hearts thou liv'st an ever welcome guest. 



The original copy of this poem was submitted to Mark 
Twain before its publication, and the following was his answer: 

"21 Fifth Ave., May 15, 1907. 
"Hon. John A. Kirlicks, 
"Dear Sir:— 

"It is a beautiful poem, and has touched me deeply. If I 
might venture to suggest, I would say that the proper place for 
it is either the 'Century' or 'Harper's Weekly,' preferably the 
'Century,' because I am not connected with it, except by old 
ties of friendship, whereas I am connected with 'Harper's' com- 
mercially. 

"Very gratefully yours, 

"S. L. Clemens." 



W^o Will Win 

Time ! Unclasp the book of Future to our view ; 

Bring the new 
And undiscovered truths of life near hand 

For our land, 
Where the simplest and the wisest soon may know 

Joy or Woe ! 

Lead us into daylight ! Aid us, for the mind 

Ne'er will find, 
That the object of our striving is, at best, 

To find rest ! 
And we know not why we struggle with our kind, 

Weak and blind. 

Why the hurried, tireless tramp of fevered feet 

Storm the street 
In a mad and eager hurdle race from far 

Worse than war. 
Crushing truth and honor in their youth and prime 

For a time. 

Why this passion, rage and madness ? Lust for gold ? 

As of old. 
When Pizarro clasped upon Inca's hands 

Iron bands? 
Thieves of untold millions, grasping millions more ! 

Yet are poor! 

These are patrons of the mart and church who sway 

Day by day 
Where the toiling masses delve, and weave, and die, 

W ithout cry ; 
There they worship with devotion full amain 

Holy gain ! 



B>tnst 
in 

(671 



( Concluded on Page 69 ) 



W^o Will Win 

( Concluded ) 

What is freedom's outlook? Dark as sunless seas, 

When to these 
Power shall have descended to defy all laws, 

And to cause 
Moral slavery over all earth and air, 

And despair. 

Shall this struggle end here ? That the future hides 

And derides 
Man to solve the riddle of a selfish strife 

In this life; 
But my child lisps from a heart devoid of sin, 

"Love will win." 

While greed often triumphs with its vulgar thrall 

Over all. 
Teach your children : love, greed's antidote, is rife, 

And is life, 
And develops honor, manhood true, and just, 

Of our dust. 



anb Momtnit 
in 

[69] 



anb Monitnit 

in 

3R|)pmc 

1711 



(Translated from the German of Uhland) 

In days remote and olden stood a castle grand and high, 
Its towers o'er gleaming landscapes, the deep blue sea could spy ; 
And round its perfumed gardens, a blood-red halo hung, 
While fountains pure and purling in rainbow colors sprung. 

There sat a proud, rich monarch, his wealth from th' vanquished 

drawn. 
Upon the throne exalted, he sat both grim and wan. 
There, where he schemes, 'tis terror, and where he looks, 'tis 

wrath ; 
His speech is but of scourgings, his writs point th' bloody path. 

Once, onward to this castle, two minstrels made their way; 
The locks of one were golden, the other's locks were gray. 
The sage, who was the harper, sat on a noble steed; 
The youth by side serenely, strode with the elder's lead. 

The elder here addressed him : "Be ready now, my son; 
Think of our deepest verses, strike our most moving tone. 
To give both pain and pleasure, exert your highest art, 
For we today must soften this monarch's stony heart." 

Soon stood within, these minstrels, a columned hall and wide. 
Where throned, the king sat scowling, his lovely spouse beside. 
The king in dreaded glory, like weird Aurora's light, 
The queen, serene and lovely, like moonbeams flushing night. 

Then struck the sage the harp strings; he struck them high and 

well ; 
And richer now, and richer, grew on the ear the swell. 
Then fell in heavenly cadence the youth's clear, ringing voice, 
While harp notes intermingled, like spirits that rejoice. 

They sing of Spring and love-time ; of sacred, golden bliss ; 
Of Freedom, noble Manhood ; of Truth and Holiness. 
They sing of sweetest topics that fill the human breast, 
They sing of themes exalted, that bring heart peace and rest. 



( Continued on Page IS ) 



anb Monatnit 

in 

3Rijpmc 

1731 

^U iffilinsitrersi Cur^e 

( Continued ) 

Around the circle, courtiers forget to scoff and jeer; 
The bravest warriors of the king bow to their God in fear; 
The queen, filled with emotions of sorrow and of joy, 
Plucked from her breast the rose-bloom, and threw it to the boy. 

"Ye have seduced my people; have ye my wife betrayed?" 
The king in fury thundered, and drew his flashing blade. 
Which with the lightning's swiftness, at the singer's breast he 

flung 
From whence no more notes golden, but a bloody freshet sprung. 

The list'ning crowd is scattered, as by a whirlwind's blast, 
The youth within the sage's arms, sighs deep, and breathes his 

last 
The harper wraps his mantle around him ; on his steed. 
In upright posture binds him, then issues forth with speed. 

But by the high arched gateway, now paused the harper sage, 
And grasped the harp they cherished, he and his nmrdered page ; 
And 'gainst a marble column he dashed its magic strings. 
Then called so shrill his echo through all the castle rings : 

"Woe unto you, proud castle ! No more your walls among 
Shall sound again the music of harpstrings or of song! 
But sighs and wailings follow your drudging steps of slaves. 
Till foul decay has gathered the tribute vengeance craves. 



(Concluded on Page 7 5) 



anb Mon&tnet 
in 

17*5) 

arte iHinfitrersi Cursie 

( Concluded ) 

"Woe, fragrant gardens, lustrous with May beams beauty, woe ! 
To prophesy your future, this shattered form I show ! 
And for this deed ye'U wither, your springs shall cease and dry. 
Where once ye bloomed in glory, now barren fields shall lie." 

"Woe unto thee, foul slayer ! The soul of Music breathes 
A curse upon your efforts, your glory's bloody wreathes ! 
Your name shall be forgotten, hid in eternal night. 
And like a moan in dying, shall take its hollow flight." 

The old man's cry has issued; the heavens have heard his call; 
The walls are now in ruins; crushed is the marble hall. 
There stands a single column, that speaks of former might. 
And this, already riven, can crumble with the night. 

Instead of blooming gardens, a sterile desert stands. 

No fragrant tree casts shadows, no springs drain through its 

sands ; 
The king's name brings no anthems — none hero strains rehearse. 
Sunk and forgotten are they — such is the Minstrel's Curse. 



in 

[77] 

S^otttv to ©ate 

At the entertainment given by the Press Club to its friends 
last night, at the Bender Hotel, Judge John A. KirHcks was 
booked for an original poem, and gave the following. 

He requested his audience to watch out for a new word, 
which the lexicographers were about to launch into diction- 
aries with a meaning to it. He begged his audience to give 
him the word's meaning if they could, for he himself had been 
unable to do so. 

Build us a poem, now, rhymer. 

In the style and the thought of the day; 

Not polished, as of an old timer, 

But something that's written for pay. 

Don't write about music and beauty. 

Or aught that is lustrous, sublime ; 
But give us a hint of our duty. 

State, what party to follow next time? 

Don't write about patience and virtue. 

Which you see is too often in want; 
That dope is a species of torture 

And the readers of same would be scant. 

But give us some news to relax us. 

From the cares and burdens of day. 
Say the City will cease soon to tax us. 

At least, let a Rumor so say. 

Don't fool with the glories of summer ; 

Let the pines in the forest alone ; 
For you'll always be counted a hummer, 

If the whole Chizzeringtum's your own. 

So write us a poem now, rhymer. 

In the style and the thought of the day. 
Not polished, as of an old timer. 

But write something once, that will pay. 

— John A. Kirlicks. 
Houston Post, June 15, 191 3. 



anil Momtnet 

in 

3R})pmc 



179] 

©fje Zitanit 

Man a leviathan hath framed, 
And properly his structure named, 

To rule and lord the seas ; 
Her Titan form looms proudly high; 
Beyond the paths where sea gulls fly, 

To brave the highest breeze. 

'Mid cheers from thousand throats the ship 
Goes forth upon her record trip; 

Oh, hope! For life afar! 
A human cargo crowds her rails; 
For now, man's Amphitrite sails! 

What can her glory mar? 

With her breast high and her keel deep. 
She starts to life! Why not to sleep 

In that uncertain path; 
Now in her glory, her proud spars 
Stretch up to greet the midnight stars, 

And draw their cheer or wrath. 

Then comes a change with later night; 
The heavens and seas are void of light. 

The hours grow dull and grave. 
The waning moon hath sunk below 
The ocean's rim; not e'en a glow 

Phosphoric lights the wave. 

The mists around her gather fast ; 
Yet must her speed till morning last, 

Then will her pathway clear 

What crash was that? What deadly shock? 

What submerged reef or unknown rock 

Brings death around her here? 



( Concluded on Page 81 ) 



®f)c tCitanic 

( Concluded ) 

Sweet lips and soft of th' morning's prime, 
Pure hearts and true of th' summer's time, 

With souls serene and light ; 
Despite each bitter cry and tear, 
Your prayers were all unanswered here — 

Where rest your souls tonight? 



antJ Monatmt 

in 

3BJi)vmt 

[811 



Your prayers were all for further breath. 
For good in life, ere life's foe, Death 

Took up his human toll ! 
For you could meet him when unsought, 
And loving all, and hating nought. 

Bid God receive your soul. 



— John A. Kirlicks. 



Houston Post, April 2"/, 1913. 




in 
3Rl)pmc 

IS31 



You've stood this verse another year; 

Accept "The Poet's" blessing, 

But now he's simply GOT to hear, 

For doubt is so distressing, 

If he shall keep it up or not, 

Or if you would expel him 

From where he occupies this spot — 

PLEASE DROP A LINE AND TELL HIM. 

It don't hurt much to be kicked out, 

But even "poets" can't stand doubt, 

So, if you'd have him stay or go. 

Just drop a line and tell him so. 

—The News Staff Poet. 



jFear jSot! 



To the Staff Poet 



Don't yield to fear, you poor old man ! 

The public needs your wisdom still ; 
When Time on you has set its ban. 

Some young scribe then your chair may fill. 

Don't leave us now. Despite your age. 
As shown us by the portrait here. 

We'd grieve to miss a single page 

Of your quaint truths the coming year. 

In course of time we all must go ; 

All members of the reading tribe ; 
But while we last we'll have to know 

What thoughts inspire our poet scribe. 

Away with doubts ! Just stick to this ! 

Since you enlighten and amuse; 
For if you'd stop we'd only miss 

A choice part of the Daily News. 



Houston, Texas. 



-John A. Kirlicks. 



